


Affection Freely Given

by tehfanglyfish



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur needs a hug, Canon Era, Deviates From Canon, Hugs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, set somewhere in season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehfanglyfish/pseuds/tehfanglyfish
Summary: When a tournament goes horribly wrong, Merlin is waiting for Arthur with a hug he didn't know he needed.





	Affection Freely Given

**Author's Note:**

> This last-minute touch fest submission was written for the love of the characters and not for monies.

Well that went badly, Arthur thought as his body crashed to the ground.

He’d made his way through most of the tournament much as everyone had expected, besting the assorted knights paired against him. It was only in the final round where things had gone pear-shaped. The day’s exertion had taken a toll, his lunch hadn’t agreed with him, and the sun was just a hint too warm. It didn’t help that a case of nerves had kept him awake much of the night before. Throw in a lucky swing from his opponent’s mace, and Camelot’s golden prince, while still a formidable warrior, lost his footing and became the official runner up of the tournament.

The blow must have been harder than he’d initially realized, as the world around him faded. Arthur could hear shouts of alarm from the crowd and a call to not panic from Gaius, running toward him surprisingly fast for someone his age. Merlin, the absurd excuse for a servant his father had recently forced on him, trailed close behind, worry etched across his brow. The very last sight Arthur took in before losing consciousness was his father’s face, scowling in fierce disappointment.

When Arthur came to, he was still on his back, though the hard ground of the tournament arena had been replaced with his mattress. Someone had stripped off his armor and dressed him in a soft tunic and breeches. His whole body ached. A day of dueling could lead to soreness, but rarely had he felt it so deep in his bones.

The curtains were still open and he could see dusk settling. The celebrations for the winner were likely well underway. Tradition mandated that the top two competitors attend but Arthur had been left in his room. Relief quickly replaced the momentary disappointment he felt at having been excluded from the festivities when he remembered the look on his father’s face. Arthur would much rather take a thousand blows like the one that had knocked him out than endure the scathing criticism Uther would hurl at him later on.

“How dare you humiliate it me like that?! You’re the heir to the throne, Arthur. You can’t afford such displays of weakness if you are ever to rule. My father would’ve disinherited me if I’d failed him so publicly.”

Uther had admonished his son it so many times that Arthur he knew what to expect. It was tempting to simply let sleep claim him and delay the inevitable until the morning. No, that would be no good. Better to just get the unpleasantness over with now. The feast would abate some of his father’s rage. If nothing else, the man would be overfed and drunk. Waiting until tomorrow would mean facing a hungover Uther and that would be far, far worse.

Cautiously, Arthur tried to raise himself to a sitting position. It occurred to him that what he’d believed to be pain only a few minutes before was nothing compared to what he now felt, every nerve in his body screaming as he moved. There was no use in holding back the groan that wanted to escape. His father would see it as weakness but Arthur was miserable. Besides, it wasn’t as though there was anyone around to hear.

“You’re awake!”

Or maybe there was. Merlin nearly tripped as he bolted from the chair where he’d been sitting, hurling himself toward the bed. Before Arthur could process what was happening, Merlin leapt on the mattress beside him and pulled him into a tight hug.

Arthur’s breath hitched, his nerves flaring in outrage at the contact, but Merlin didn’t seem to notice.

“I was so scared. You went down hard and Gaius couldn’t revive you. He tried everything but then I had to…”

“Had to what?” Arthur’s curiosity cut through the haze of pain. What exactly had clumsy, ridiculous Merlin done when even Gaius couldn’t help him?

“It doesn’t matter now,” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re alive and awake and that’s what’s important.”

Arthur debated pressing the matter but decided against it. He’d get the truth out of Merlin eventually and right now it hurt too much to breathe, much less speak.

A moment passed. Then another, and another, neither of them moving. While pain continued to radiate throughout Arthur’s body, he no longer seemed to notice it quite as much, his mind distracted by Merlin.

This obviously wasn’t the first time someone had held Arthur. He could remember childhood hugs from his nursemaids, but those had been quickly stolen when Uther had been distracted, his father believing such indulgences would make his son weak. Gaius had from time to time put a tentative arm around his shoulders, though it never lingered for long. He’d been clapped on the back quite a few times by his fellow knights, and while those gestures expressed fondness, there also was a degree of masculine competitiveness that accompanied so many of their interactions. His father did embrace him every now and then, but always with stiff formality.

Never could he remember someone hugging him like Merlin was doing at this very moment, squeezing Arthur as if his own life depended on it. Clearly the man hadn’t been raised with the same standards of decorum as Arthur, as he shamelessly let his emotions pour out. Arthur could feel Merlin’s deep relief and unbridled affection wash over him.

Protocol demanded that he shove Merlin off, chastise him for violating the prince’s royal body in such a shameless display of tenderness, sentence him to a week – make that a month – in the stocks for his impropriety. And yet Arthur did no such thing. Instead, much to his own shock, he found himself returning the embrace, winding his arms around his servant, letting his cheek rest against Merlin’s shoulder.

Until a few minutes ago, he’d lived his whole life without having experienced such an overt display of pure affection. No one had ever touched him quite like this - lingering, heartfelt embraces weren’t appropriate for a crown prince. Or so he’d been led to believe.

But now, thanks to one gangly, overly-enthusiastic, unrestrained, terrible excuse of a servant, he was lost in a hug. There was no pretense, no expectation, no obligation – just Merlin’s surprisingly strong arms holding him steady. He couldn’t recall a time where he’d ever felt so safe or so accepted. How he had survived these years without this, he wasn’t quite sure. But now that he knew the sensation, he didn’t think he could bear to go back to how things had been, submerged in the reserved loneliness that came with being Uther Pendragon’s son.

Merlin shifted slightly, his torso twisting in Arthur’s embrace. He was ridiculously skinny, ribs clearly defined through his tunic. Arthur would have to remedy that beginning tonight.

“Your hair smells nice.”

Oh gods, had Arthur really just blurted that out? It was true, though. Why should he lie?

“You must’ve really hit your head when you fell,” Merlin laughed softly in response.

“Clearly,” Arthur replied. “Why else would I allow you to trap me like this?”

At that, Merlin’s body stiffened and he began to withdraw.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to…”

“I was joking, Merlin.”

“Oh.”

Merlin eased back against Arthur, who couldn’t help but smile, even if the movement had caused his aches and pains to once again make themselves known.

“I’ve never done this before,” Arthur whispered.

“Never?!” Merlin sounded shocked.

“Never,” Arthur confirmed. “It’s nice.”

“Good,” Merlin replied. “Maybe I should’ve done it sooner.”

“Maybe.”

Another few moments of easy silence passed, neither of them making a move to leave. It was so soothing, so comforting that Arthur almost drifted off against Merlin, roused only by drunken singing echoing through the corridor outside his door.

Oh. The feast was likely winding down. The very last thing he needed was for Uther to find him wrapped up in Merlin’s arms.

“I… I need to go see my father.”

“Want me to come with?”

“More than anything. But it always goes better when I’m alone.”

Merlin’s hold tightened just a little before finally he released Arthur.

“In that case,” Merlin said, eyes meeting his with an intensity Arthur had never seen before, “go face your dragon. I’ll be here when you get back.”

It would be a lie to say that his body didn’t throb as he made it to his feet and staggered toward Uther’s chambers. It would be an even bigger lie to say that he wasn’t dreading whatever the king was about to level at him. But Arthur found that for once in his life he didn’t care about his father’s approval or what Uther thought of him. It no longer mattered. Because Merlin was in Arthur’s chambers, waiting for him to return.


End file.
